


whole latte love

by silent_h



Series: tumblr prompts [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, everyone else is Done, sara swears a Lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 21:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17393945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silent_h/pseuds/silent_h
Summary: digital-rogue asked:hhhhhh i meant to send this like 10 hours ago but here we are uwu, “You’re a tea-lover yet you come to the coffee shop where I work at just to see my foam art and you give me hefty tips regularly so I’ve taken it upon myself to master the art of tea-making just for you” AU + Nyssara





	whole latte love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeGayDoCrime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeGayDoCrime/gifts).



> wow it only took me like nearly half a year to title this. you're welcome for the pun

Sara absolutely _loves_ making coffee art. Loves how still it makes her mind, how hard she has to concentrate. Like meditation, by way of coffee. She was never really into creative stuff, even as a kid, but this? It’s like _art_.

“Please,” Rip says, pleadingly, from where he’s cleaning tables across the room, “please tell me you’re not drawing dicks again.”

Instead of replying, Sara just ever so slightly pokes the tip of her tongue out.

Rip groans.

It’s a sound Sara’s grown pretty used to since working at the Waverider Coffee Shop. It’s basically white noise at this point.

She could make a recording of Rip grumbling and groaning and scolding to play at night and she’d probably fall asleep quicker.

“Aren’t you afraid of being fired?”

Sara just about stops herself from yelping. Her hand still jerks though, spilling milk across the counter.

Luckily, she doesn’t spill it over herself, because there’s a woman standing in front of the counter.

A _cute_ woman.

With a _British accent_.

The woman raises an eyebrow. She does it in a very cute way too, head tilting, mouth twitching with the barest hint of a smile.

Sara can just about see the definition of her arm muscles through her shirt and sorry but no. No. Too much. Completely unacceptable.

She’s way too bi for this.

“How did you even get in here without making a noise?” Sara says, once her heart rate’s slowed down enough for her to speak.

She reaches under the counter to get a cloth, and when she straightens back up the woman’s staring at her, as though completely scaring the shit out of your barista is a normal way to spend your time and _Sara’s_ the weird one for reacting.

It feels strangely less unnerving than it should be?

The woman blinks as Sara wipes the countertop. “I came in through the door?”

She looks bemused, the other eyebrow raising to join the first. It’s unfairly adorable. Doubly so at—Sara glances at the clock on the opposite wall before she puts the cloth back—2 in the morning.

“Right,” Sara says. “Sure. Okay. Wait, what did you—?” She frowns, mentally rewinds a minute of gay panic and countertop wiping. “Am I worried I’ll get fired?” She snorts. “Nope,” she says, popping the p. “I mean, I wouldn’t do this if there was actually normal people here, but the only people who come in here at this time of night, _morning_ ,” she corrects, “tend to be grad students pulling all-nighters, and I could literally be stark naked and whistling show tunes and they wouldn’t care so long as I kept supplying them with caffeine.”

She grins, turning to look at the only occupied table in the store. It’s almost completely covered in paper, with a few empty coffee cups filling in the gaps. Its lone occupant has been there since 11pm and Sara knows from past experience that he won’t be moving until at _least_ 6am.

“Right, Hathaway?”

“Fuck off, Lance,” he says, without looking up.

“Love ya,” she sing songs, throwing in finger guns for good measure.

He doesn’t actually see her do it, but he doesn’t need to. He’s known Sara long enough to tell when she’s finger gunning. She can see it in the roll of his eyes.

God, Sara loves having regulars.

“Besides,” she says, attention refocusing on the woman in front of her, “Rip would never actually fire me—”

“I _could_ ,” Rip says, as though he hasn’t been threatening to fire her since the day she started working here.

“—because the other owner loves me. And also I’m the only person who knows how to do latte art around here, and it brings in a _lot_ of tips.”

The woman raises her eyebrows again, but this time it looks disbelieving.

She’d like to be offended but like. It’s super fair.

(well, fair about the second thing, because Gideon really _does_ love her. she’s easily her second favourite employee, after Zari, and _everyone_ loves Zari, so)

“No, but like honestly, though,” she shrugs, “I am. It’s like, pretty much the only thing I’ve got going for me at the moment.”

The woman is both nice enough to pretend not hear Hartley’s muttered “Sad,” _and_ Rip’s snort at Hartley’s mutter, which actually makes her the nicest person in the store right now.

(yeah, Sara’s not delusional enough to think that _she’s_ nice)

She still looks like she doesn’t believe her though.

“Wanna see?” Sara asks. “I mean, you still haven’t ordered yet so…”

_Please say yes_ , she thinks. There’s no point in being good at something if she can’t use it to impress a pretty girl.

The girl in question frowns, biting her lip. “I don’t really like coffee,” she says, sounding almost regretful. “I prefer tea?”

_Oh._ Well that’s—

Whatever.

It’s fine. Sara’s shoulders definitely don’t hunch.

“We have tea too,” Sara says, a little less enthusiastically. “Probably?”

She pretty much only works nights, and it’s not like tea drinkers tend to come in at these times. Rip and Gideon own the store though, and they’re British, right? It’s gotta be illegal for there not to be _some_ tea around here.

She tries to catch Rip’s eye, but he’s very carefully looking down at the table he’s wiping. He’s smirking.

Sara would like to punch it off his face.

That’s a pretty common feeling though, and she’s grown used to having to ignore it. She loves Rip, she does, but _boy_ does he have a punchable face.

“Actually,” the woman says, dragging Sara’s attention back to her, “I would…” She pauses, and Sara tries to act like every fiber of her being isn’t waiting to see what she’ll say. “I would like to see your art?”

Sara _beams._

“Okay,” she says, grinning (she’s fine this is fine she can be cool about this), “what kind of coffee would you like?”

The woman’s mouth opens and then closes, brow furrowing.

It’s the single cutest fucking thing Sara has ever seen. She’s literally gonna combust.

“I can pick,” she offers, and the woman nods, looking relieved.

Tea drinker, so probably doesn’t want something too strong; not knowledgeable about coffee, so probably doesn’t want something too complicated?

A latte, she decides. Medium size, single shot, no syrup, and easy on the sugar.

“You’re fine with dairy, right?” she asks, as she moves over to the coffee machine.

It’s old and temperamental and tends to give people who aren’t Ray electric shocks and Len sharpied over all the old labels with stupid phrases and she’s pretty sure Zari’s planning to steal it and strip it for parts and Sara _loves_ it.

“And— Wait, _shit_ ,” she says, suddenly, realising something, “you’re good with caffeine too, right? I mean. It’s 2am. This’ll kind of throw your whole sleep schedule out of whack?”

“I am,” the woman says. The amused tone is back in her voice, and Sara has the embarrassing feeling that she could listen to her speak all day. “I just moved,” she explains, “and I have jetlag. And nothing in my flat. I was actually looking for some sort of greengrocer’s?”

Sara internally translates that from British to American (something she’s long grown used to doing with Rip and Gideon and John), and gets _grocery store_.

“Everything’s closed round here,” she says, ruefully, “but there’s a 24 hour place that’s not too far away? I could write down the directions for you.”

“Oh,” the woman says. When Sara turns to look at her, there’s a soft, almost surprised smile on her face, and she quickly turns back. “Thank you,” she says, quietly. “That would be very nice of you.”

Sara very carefully doesn’t say something stupid and corny, like _anything to make you smile_ , because _yikes_ , calm down. Instead, she asks for her name, to write on the cup.

There’s a moment of silence, while Sara heats the milk. The silence feels distinctly amused.

“There’s no one else ordering,” the woman points out. “And you’re not going to put my coffee in a takeaway cup anyway.”

You know, Sara’s pretty sure it’s _way_ too early for logic to be allowed.

“Yes,” she says, stretching the word out, “but…?”

(you’re very pretty and I want your name and also your number and also a date?)

“Never mind,” she says, easily, shaking her head at herself. “But uh?” She darts a quick look at the woman, “would you close your eyes?”

The woman laughs, softly. It’s a very pretty laugh, because of course it is. Sara’s at least 60% sure she’s not being laughed at. She likes those odds.

“Nyssa,” the woman says, closing her eyes.

Sara freezes.

(she doesn’t spill anything this time though! score one for her!)

“Nyssa,” she repeats, as she pours in the milk. “I’m, uh, I’m Sara? By the way?”

“I know,” Nyssa says. “I saw your name tag,” and Sara thanks every higher power in existence that she’s currently wearing her normal name tag, and not the one where Zari crossed out her name and replaced it with _asshat_.

“Okay, _Nyssa_ ,” she says softly, gently placing the cup in front of her. “ _Voila_.”

It’s 2am, and Nyssa’s _very_ pretty, so it’s not exactly Sara’s best work, but she tried her best with the conditions she was under.

The result is a slightly wonky, if still pretty respectable looking dragon.

“You weren’t lying,” Nyssa says. She looks impressed(!), mouth still slightly open.

Sara feels… _something_. Something that’s small and fluttering and probably not heartburn.

_Pride_ , she realises.

Huh. Been a while since she’s felt that. Feels strange.

“I never lie,” Sara says, sagely. “Unless it’s about dick size.”

Ah, shame. Now that feels more familiar.

Rip makes a strangled noise that probably translates to _why the actual fuck would you say that to an actual real life human person you’re trying to hit on what is wrong with you_.

It’s a very fair noise to make. Sara would probably make a similar noise if she wasn’t floating somewhere above her body hoping the last few seconds never happened.

Nyssa snorts, though.

To be fair it’s a bewildered snort; the snort of a person who has literally no idea how else to respond, but hey, she’ll take it.

“How much do I owe you for this?”

For a moment there, Sara very almost _says it’s on the house_ , but her boss is literally standing across from her, glaring right at her.

“3 bucks,” she says, instead, because as much as she jokes about it, she really _does_ like this job.

Nyssa hums, hand reaching into her pant pocket. She brings out a bill (a _folded_ bill, as if that isn’t ridiculously adorable thing to do) and flattens it out on the counter. “Keep the change,” she says.

The number on that bill has _three digits_.

“Uh,” Sara says. It’s not a great word, but it’s still technically a word, so really she should get points for that. “So I know I said I get a lot of tips but like. This is a lot.”

“It is.”

“Some might say too much.”

“They might.”

“Like, most people would.”

“Perhaps.”

Nyssa smiles at her, easily, with a look in her eyes that says she won’t be budged.

Behind her, Rip makes a face that most definitely translates to _take the money you goddamn idiot_.

But then, _oh_.

_Oh_ , that’s such a good idea. Holy shit, she’s a _genius_.

She rings up the total, and then takes a twenty from her own pocket.

Nyssa watches her with raised eyebrows, and Sara grins to herself.

She takes a sharpie from the little cup on the counter, and scrawls something onto the twenty.

“Your change,” she says, holding it out to her.

Nyssa takes the bill from her, face blank with surprise, and Sara feels like the smoothest person who ever _lived_.

“Is this permanent? Did you just permanently write your phone number on a banknote? That could end up anywhere?”

_Fuck._

“…maybe.”

Nyssa laughs again, and this time Sara _knows_ it’s at her.

“I’ll have to come back here and buy something else then, won’t I?”

_Oh_ , Sara thinks.

“Yeah?” Sara says, when she’s regained the power of speech. “And maybe in the meantime I could keep you company while you drink your coffee?”

“I’d very much like that.”

—

(“So, why a dragon?” Nyssa asks, months later.

“Because you set my world alight,” Sara grins, draping over her shoulder.

Nyssa laughs, the same softly amused laugh that makes Sara fall in love all over again with her every time she hears it. “And the _real_ reason?”

“….because it was 2am and I literally couldn’t think of anything else.”)

**Author's Note:**

> maybe i should play around in this verse more


End file.
